MISADVENTURE
by vanhunks
Summary: P/T - Part One. A marriage under fire. Tom Paris has written B'Elanna a letter, requesting that she meet with him. She agrees. It's been years since she's seen him. But Earth also holds memories… Thhis story is a post ENDGAME AU story, where Tom and B


**MISADVENTURE** by 

**vanhunks**

SUMMARY: A marriage under fire. Tom Paris has written B'Elanna a letter, requesting that she meet with him. She agrees. It's been years since she's seen him. But Earth also holds memories… MISADVENTURE 

PART ONE 

B'Elanna made her way across the plaza, not heeding the soft sifting rain that had fallen since morning. Although she shivered slightly, she didn't feel any cold, at least not the cold she had felt on occasion on Voyager when the ship's systems were down and all were freezing, or when they were trapped in the holodeck in icy conditions and Tom had rubbed her hands till the circulation returned again. 

Still, she thought that on a day like this it had to rain. Just when she had decided to wear mufti and to wash her hair and dry it till it glistened sleekly. The curly look she had sported years ago was gone, and in its place was a style she favoured these days. No-nonsense smooth, curling slightly inward in her neck. 

Her reply had been as brief as the message she had received two days ago. His words had been simple, direct, yet there was a wary-hopeful tone to it, as if he knew she could reject him this time, but give it consideration nonetheless. In that respect something of what they had, still remained. She had considered it this time, mainly because… B'Elanna sighed. What could still be salvaged from the past? There was nothing. They couldn't salvage and repair what wasn't there, could they? Yet, here she was, on the outskirts of Paris, and on her way to salvage, if that was what could be done, from nothing. 

Her steps were measured, as if she were loathe to reach her destination too soon. She looked around her, saw people milling about, some sitting under the wide awning of a coffee shop, in animated conversation, others sitting alone at their tables. She gave a snort. Who were they waiting for? What were they waiting for? Loved ones? Friends? Mothers, fathers, sisters? Was their hoping as vain as hers had once been, sitting like them just like that and waiting? Waiting? Waiting for something that would never be? The awning provided an ample enough screen from the sifting rain. Still, perhaps her earlier supposition of their intent had been erroneous as she glanced at them. Most of them appeared at ease. Perhaps just enjoying an afternoon out, notwithstanding the rain. Tom would have said that one's happiest moments could be had in an afternoon of rain. There was no strain on their faces, no signs that life dealt them vicious below-the-belt blows, no signs that tomorrow the universe might collapse and fall on their heads. She gave another snort at that thought. It was something Tom would have said. His armoury of quaint, weird, off-beat, quirky, old-world, cheeky expressions had been a fount of information on modern talking, or at least, his style of modern talking. No, those patrons were at ease. 

They didn't feel the sudden onset of disquiet she felt; they didn't feel her deep qualms, her old deeply rooted fears that had surfaced since she read the PADD two days ago. It had been a rude awakening from her lethargy, her own furious veneer of control she had used to batten down her emotions and get through each day cautiously, gingerly stepping outside into the sun and attempting to prevent the bright light of day stabbing its constant reminders into her skull - razor-sharp needles that always hovered just inches away from her, ready to inject her with pain and memories. 

B'Elanna had managed. Every day had become a Klingon warrior she fought in the holodecks of Voyager. Every day a challenge, to conquer her enemy, those ill-tempered beasts of terror that growled constantly at her protective barriers, seeking to gain important territorial advantage. She had taken every day and shaken it as hard as she could, and very slowly crawled back to humanity where, whilst those beasts were still hungrily prowling aruond her, ready to strike, had been kept at bay. The days had come and gone. Gentle spring awakening and beautiful summer days, the days of fall, when on Earth oak leaves would drift with aimless abandon down,down, down, and die in their glorious golden heyday. Thse were the days she had come to treasure, for they marked her recovery to sanity. Yet, those beasts lay in wait, even in the brilliant days of summer. 

She always wondered at that. How could the world look so right when everything inside her churned into a maelstrom of chaos? How could these patrons at their little quaint tables look so happy when inside of her, she had never stopped crying? The sorrow had come and taken charge of her heart - a bleak tapestry woven with blacks and greys and browns, never suddenly and inexplicably interrupted by a splash of bright red or blue or yellow - and every beat of it a dull sullen ache that refused to lift. 

Yet, she had managed to live. She survived every day by ruthlessly subduing the dull aching just long enough to get into bed the night and tumble restlessly into memories. Old, odd memories of bell-like laughter, bright eyes, turn of the head, quirky pull of the mouth that reminded so much of him. Too much of him. She crawled out of bed the next morning, faced herself in the mirror and started the day with a quick lecture to herself: 

"Now, B'Elanna, get off your sorry ass and get on with the day." 

The face in the mirror would glower: 

"Right, let's see you do it." 

Then she'd leave her home and no one would know how inside, she coerced the tapestry of darkness into life - a semblance of it - and presented herself to the world, a woman who had come to terms with her loss. 

Dead. Alive. Dead. Alive. In the last years she wondered whether she'd ever feel that breathless lightness of being again. Or whether she'd smile and mean it. Or, whether she'd feel the strong, comforting, supporting arms of a man's embrace. 

The rain had stopped. She looked up and realised she hardly noticed how the clouds had parted and the plaza was suddenly lighter. It forced a tight smile from her, an unwilling concession to the dread she felt as she looked for the address. 

"He certainly chose his spot," she muttered under her breath as she saw the entrance of the restaurant. Picking up pace slightly, B'Elanna headed in the direction of the building at the far end of the plaza. Its neon sign was too broad, too visible not to notice. She had travelled from Alcon Prime in Sector 375 to Earth, a journey that was as tiring as it was long. But he was based here, and her agreement to see him on his turf was rooted in the knowledge that she had to see a few other people as well, later. The Admiral and Mrs Paris were high on that list, as well as Admiral Janeway and Captain Chakotay. 

Her heart thumped wildly. She wanted to see Tom and at the same time she dreaded the moment. Their years apart had not given her the peace she yearned for, nor the closure she needed. The distance between them was nothing if not a physical separation that offered a vulnerable barrier on the verge of collapse. She thought it would be enough. How could she forget when so much had happened? 

How wrong such an assumption! 

B'Elanna paused at the steps of the restaurant. He should he sitting there, waiting for her. She turned to look one last time at the scene in front of her. Paris - she smiled wanly this time at the unexpected twist in meaning - had never looked better after the rains. Beautiful, shiny, it lay in the watery sun like a new coin, shaking off the last drops of rain. Somewhere - she couldn't see the river, but her memory served her well - the gleaming snake meandered restfully, hardly disturbed by the light drizzle of the morning. Another smile. A memory of happier times… Perhaps, after all, something good might come from her meeting. 

Inside the foyer she ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing the damp strands down. She had decided on wearing civilian clothing. It suggested things personal. A break from formality. 

After all, she was going to meet Tom Paris. She had imagined a place more flashy, more beach-like, palms and lakes, or the sea where she could stare into the distance and measure the horizon. Something Tom Paris would have created or thought of as "ingenious, B'Elanna, don't you think?" Things he always liked to surprise her with. The lakes… the beach… Calm waters that soothed and drenched them with peace, or, sparked a spiral of passion that raged unabated as they feasted on their happiness. Now, this restaurant, this bleak day, was more in keeping with his old turf. Known territory of discomfiting closeness, food, wine... especially, wine... Stifling presence of too many people that made her want to run. If he had said Sandrine's she would not have been surprised. It suited the current mood. 

"May I help you?" the maître d' asked as he approached her. She gave him the best smile she could muster, then shook her head as her eyes connected immediately with the man sitting at a table in the far corner of the room.. Alerted to the presence of the latest customer, Tom Paris looked up, straight at B'Elanna. 

B'Elanna kept staring. The smile left her face. He looked…forlorn. The irony of it hit her like a jackhammer: in this crowded restaurant, Tom Paris struck a solitary figure. The waiter followed her look, then nodded as he acknowledged her as a guest of the patron in the corner. He left to attend to the next patron or two who had come in. 

B'Elanna moved slowly to where Tom was sitting. "I'll listen to him," she told herself. "I'll listen to his proposal, then leave." 

She wove her way past the tables, apologised swiftly when she knocked against the chair of a patron. All the time her eyes were on Tom Paris. As she came closer, her heart stopped for a moment, then thundered so fiercely that she could feel the throbbing of it in her throat, feel the trembling echo of it in her ears. 

B'Elanna looked at the man she had loved for more years than she could remember. She greedily slaked her thirst as she took in his features: drawn, tired, his eyes no longer the bright blue, but a dullish hue. His hair had thinned, looked more bleached than she had last seen. More grey... She cringed inside, not wanting to acknowledge that the years had not treated him well. She was not alone in her misery. Tom Paris had the same dark tapestry inside him. She had wanted him to have no regrets, no guilt, no dark memories and bleak winter days, so that it was easier for her to drift into the silt of her own grief. She wanted to let the old anger, the bitterness surface. She felt it, and alarmed that she could not control it, tried to bank it with a furious force, to keep it at bay. She marveled at her reserve. 

"Hello, B'Elanna," he said softly. "I'm - I'm glad you could make it," he said softly as he rose from his chair and touched her arm. She thought how even his voice sounded deeper, more touched… tempered with…pain? 

She stiffened slightly at his touch on her arm, again alarmed that she was responding in a manner she had not wanted to, against all orders and resolve. He was tense, nervous, backing off abruptly, giving an embarrassed cough. She had not meant to add to the strained, pinched look on his face. But what could she do? The memories rode on high waves back and crashed against the gates of her conscious. 

Miral... 

Miral lay like the spectre she was, between them. She found her voice, surprised that she could sound…untouched. 

"Hello, Tom. It's been a long time..." 

"Ten years, B'Elanna." 

***** 

END PART ONE 

TBC PART 2/? 


End file.
